


Purgatory: Population 1

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Dub!Con, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Sci Fi!AU, astronaut!cas, hunter!dean, moc!dean, team switch (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: While helping out a group of terraformers, Dean ends up with a mysterious Mark on his arm that gives him the urge to kill. After giving up on the idea of a cure, Dean comes up with the only solution he can think of: he takes his ship, picks a direction, and flies until he’s so lost no one will ever find him.And for a few years, it works. Dean has a planet full of monsters all to himself, monsters he can kill and maim and satisfy his dark impulses. At least until a stranger crash lands on his planet. Will Dean be able to resist long enough to help this man leave? And what if he doesn't want him to leave?





	Purgatory: Population 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry to the [2017 Dean W Big Bang](http://deanwbigbang.tumblr.com). Since Dean is my fav member of Team Free Will, I _knew_ I had to participate. This wasn't the fic I originally intended to write, but my muse was fickle and then by chance I ended up playing around with this idea (which is based vaguely on [this post](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/160012030292/omgbubblesomg-answered-your-question-so-yall)). Sci fi au's are sorely lacking, plus I love me some rough dub con sex :)
> 
> Thank you to my awesome artist [idjitsaviors](https://idjitsaviors.tumblr.com) and my lovely beta reader [blue-reveries](http://blue-reveries.tumblr.com) <3
> 
> Feel free to visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com). Hope you enjoy!

_Paint the world bloody, paint the world red. Break and cut and bleed them dry._

_“You can’t go on like this!” Sam yelled. He had to yell to be heard over the screaming, the hacking, the rage burning white hot on Dean’s arm. “You gotta stop!”_

_“Stop?” Dean laughed. The body under him was a pulpy mess; it didn’t look even remotely human anymore. “Why would I want to stop?”_

_“Dean, you’re sick! Let me help you!”_

_“Sick? Sammy, I feel great! Amazing.”_

_“Dean,” Sam pleaded._

_“What’s a matter? Afraid I like it? Turns out, I kinda like the disease…”_

Dean jolted out of bed, coughing and gasping for air. The blankets were twisted around him so tightly he felt like he was suffocating. Cold sweat drenched his shirt, and the more he freed himself from the blankets the colder he felt.

Fuck did he hate sleeping.

The digital display of his clock told him it was well into the night phase of this planet. Too bad. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now, not with the Mark hurting something fierce and his vision tinted red at the edges.

Resigning himself to an early start, Dean pulled on a sweatshirt and some pants before heading to grab some coffee. It was a waste, really, using the coffee when he didn’t _need_ to stay up. He only had so much in storage and sooner or later he’d run out, but he wanted the comfort of the bitter taste and warm smell. A familiar habit and an old routine on a strange, lonely planet.

_Could always go out and get more—_

He cut off the thought before it could fully form. He wasn’t leaving. _Ever_.

Purgatory, this shithole of a planet in some barely charted part of space, was his home. Prison, really. Either way, this was the last place he’d ever see. He’d live out the rest of his days here, and then he’d die alone, unknown, and forgotten.

“Not forgotten,” he grumbled. “Sam probably remembers me, wherever he is.”

That didn’t bring him much comfort. If Sam was alive out there, that was a constant risk. Sam hadn’t been thrilled with Dean’s run and hide plan, and there was always the vague concern that he’d show up on Dean’s door step. He genuinely hoped he’d put the fear of god into his brother about following him _and_ that he’d done a good enough job hiding.

If Sam showed up announced, Dean would probably kill him.

That was actually an optimistic assessment. _Ideally_ he’d be infuriated and kill Sam on the spot. The alternative was so _so_ much worse…

Dean had gone above and beyond to make sure he was untrackable. As soon as he’d gotten out of Hunter space, he’d taken apart his radio. Not just turned it off, dismantled it piece by piece. His tracer too. He’d even coasted through a whole star system without his engine on so no one could pick up his engine trail. Even his power output planetside was so little anyone scanning the planet would have to be in lower orbit to pick up on it.

Sam was an amazing tracker, one of the best, but Dean was better, and he’d used what he knew to make himself impossible to find.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” he grumbled to himself. Despite frequently carrying on one-sided conversations, his voice was rough from disuse. It was probably weird that he _did_ talk to himself at all, but he couldn’t help it. It was lonely on this godforsaken rock.

“Oh, just the usual,” he answered back. The coffee was done, and he poured himself a mug. He might be able to use the grounds for another pot. “Tend the fields, eat some bland turnip equivalents, read the same Vonnegut books I’ve already read a million times, listen to the same records I always do, then go hunting.”

With a sigh, he sat at his little kitchenette table. Propping his feet up on the otherwise useless chair next to him, he breathed in the warm steam. “Awesome. Just another day on good ol’ Purgatory.”

~ ~ ~

Nothing changed on Purgatory. At least not since Dean had gotten there. He was the one change the planet had seen in, well, _years_. It didn’t fight against the progress he’d made, didn’t try to swallow up the fields he’d cleared out, or kill him with disease or famine. That didn’t mean it was _easy_ living here, but it was doable. Boring as all hell, but as far as uncharted planets went, Dean figured he’d lucked out.

Especially when it came to his fellow inhabitants.

Purgatory wasn’t exactly devoid of life. There was vegetation scattered across the planet’s surface, some of it even editable. The bacteria in the soil let Dean grow his wheat and his vegetables and his fruit without complaint. If that was all he’d found here, then he’d make peace with being the only sentient being within a million miles. It’d be for the best, anyway.

He wasn’t though. Not by a longshot.

There were little critters. The usual birds and lizards and squirrel-like things crawling around and trying to get at his crops (or just making a mess of his irrigation system). Those he wouldn’t have minded. Nuisance though they might be, they provided a distraction to the monotony of his existence. Repairing fences and coming up with new ways to scare them off was something to _do_ , something that wasn’t as straightforward as reading. He didn’t know the outcome; it was unique, it was an actual _interaction._

The real surprise had been the _other things_ living on the planet.

They weren’t _intelligent_. Not the way humans are, anyway. More like dogs; big like them too. They roamed the forests, howling and screeching in the darkness. Some nights Dean could hear them fighting each other, trees shaking as they shattered and fell as collateral damage. Some nights they were so close, Dean could hear them howling just beyond his fences.

He liked those nights.

Because these things, these hellhounds that did nothing but fight and maim and kill each other, they liked to fight Dean. And they actually put up a decent fight. Not once had he had an easy fight against them, and the Mark burning on his arm appreciated that. And they were oh so fun to kill…

A voice in the back of his head always told him it was a bad idea. A voice that sounded an awful lot like Sam scolded him for fucking up the ecosystem by killing so many of them. Another voice that was more his old self, back when he was _just_ himself without the Mark’s influence, warned him that he should leave. Feeding the Mark what it wanted, even if it was only killing these mindless monsters on some backwater planet, would only make things worse. If he _truly_ wanted to control the Mark, he needed to get away from places where there was _anything_ to kill.

It was just too much fun. Dean couldn’t give it up.

_Who am I hurting, anyway? I’ve killed hundred of these things, and a hundred more crop up in their place. Going on years now, I haven’t seen any “ecosystem” issues._

_Let me have this._

_I’ve got nothing else._

The voices went quiet.

Dean grabbed his blade and went out to hunt.

~ ~ ~

“Personal Log for Week 112. That’s… Shit, I don’t even know… Two years in? More? Feels like ten…”

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe he should cut it. That’d be a good distraction for all of an hour.

“Nothing new. Week 112 so far has been the same as Week 111, which was the same as Week 110, and the hundred weeks before that.”

Why he still bothered to do these logs, he didn’t really know. He used to think it was the one thread connecting him to his sanity. The one thing left that was almost like actual human contact, because _theoretically_ someone, someday would find this stupid planet and view his logs.

Eventually, he’d be vindicated for having left in the first place.

“Killed about ten native Purgatoan monster things since last time. One was a big ol’ thing. Got me real good before I cut its head off. Scratched up my back enough that I actually had to use a good amount of rubbing alcohol to clean that shit up. Man, I was so pissed after that I sharpened my blade and—”

He cut himself off. Going on about his hunts? Yeah, _that_ would make him sound completely sane.

“Anyway,” he said pointedly, “things are good. Crops are doing well. Should be able to harvest quite a bit in a couple weeks. Best part about Purgatory? No seasons. It’s like a continual late spring. Makes growing food real easy.

“And I literally have nothing else to say. I’m still wishin’ I’d thought to bring a larger library of books, since I can only read the same things so many times, but I was kinda in a rush. Food, water, solar panels… all that took precedence over entertainment and—and _clothes!_ I only got like ten shirts and five pairs of pants. What the hell was I thinking?”

Dean laughed at his own bad planning. “I’m an idiot, obviously. So Sammy, if you ever get your hands on this footage… If _anyone_ ever does, know that I really am that thick headed. Log 112 over.”

~ ~ ~

The sun beat down on him, but Dean barely noticed. Purgatory was weird like that; it could be a cloudless sky, the sun absolutely relentless in how brightly it shone, and still it would lack the heat that should accompany it. It did leave Dean tan, new freckles dotting his arms and shoulders, but he never broke a sweat. It was a constant 76 degrees all day long.

Dean hummed Led Zeppelin under his breath as he checked the tomatoes. Another day or two and he’d be able to harvest them. He might even have some freeze dried pasta somewhere in storage—

Thunder erupted, startling Dean.

A bright light streaked through the sky, something entering orbit and burning up. Meteors were pretty common; they were beautiful, balls of light and destruction crash landing in the mountains or woods. Dean shielded his eyes to watch. Looked like it’d be near the river. Good to know. The crashes tended to attract a lot of attention, drawing in creatures from miles around. If he felt that dangerous itch to kill or maim, he knew what direction to head.

Dean turned away to head back inside and grab his blade, but something caught his attention. He did a double take and gaped at the meteor. It wasn’t a meteor at all but a ship. Smaller than the one Dean had converted into his home but big enough that it was almost definitely manned.

It disappeared below the treeline and then shockwaves shook the ground.

Shit. A _person_ had landed here.

 _Crash landed_ , he reminded himself. _At least they probably don’t know about me…_

_That’s even **worse**. They have **no idea** what they’ve wandered into… _

Decision made, Dean grabbed his blade. If whoever was on that ship had survived the crash, even if they weren’t hurt, they’d be in a world of trouble. Purgatory wasn’t easy on those who were _used_ to it and most definitely not to newcomers. If Dean got there in time, maybe he could help them out.

Maybe he could save them.

_Yeah right. Like **you** can save **anyone**. Can’t even save yourself. Give it up, you’re not a Hunter anymore. You’re nothing. You’re a nobody. Admit it, you just wanna get there first so **you** can kill the poor bastard… _

_Shut up shut up SHUT UP._

His world narrowed down to one single thought: get to that ship. He ignored the burn in his lungs as he ran, the ache in his side, the ominous sounds of snarls all around him.

The wreckage was already crawling with monsters poking at the hull. There was a huge gash along one side, probably damage from plasma burns, that they were focusing on. Thankfully they hadn’t broken through; the metal was still red hot and they kept stopping to snap at each other. It wouldn’t be long though…

Dean whistled, causing the beasts to turn his way.

“I know,” he taunted as he cut a line across his forearm. The hellhounds scented the air, circling closer and licking their chops. “I smell real good, don’t I? Wanna see if I taste even better?”

They lunged at him all at once. The Mark sang with joy at the prospect of a fight—a _real_ fight—for the first time in ages.

He remembered the first swing of his blade and the spray of dark black blood filling the air. The second swing connected too, though that wasn’t as clearly defined in his mind. His body kept going after that, swinging until his arms were tired. His shirt clung to his back, either from sweat or blood or dirt and grime, not that it mattered.

The Mark took over. The Mark moved his limbs for him, made the decisions, and fought the fight. All Dean got was the euphoria of _kill fight maim blood and guts_.

Dean didn’t come back to himself until he was on his knees, panting hard and surrounded by nothing but death. A few of the hellhounds circled around the edge of the impact site. They yipped and looked like they wanted to charge in, but they never came too close. Dean snarled at them as he pushed to his feet; they watched with wide eyes and then fled into the trees.

Instinct begged him to chase after them. Finish them off. There were some left!

Only the smoking hull drew him back to himself. Reason slowly came back in and the little sense he had latched onto the actual problem at hand: there was someone in that ship that needed his help.

The override for the main hatch was similar to the ones they used on ships; either not much had changed in the past couple years, or this ship was in desperate need of a systems upgrade. Didn't matter. It made it easier for Dean to get inside and find the cockpit.

The pilot was passed out over the controls. At least he'd been harnessed in when he crashed. As gingerly as he could, he moved the man off the console.

 _Kill him_ , the Mark whispered. _When's the last time you've gotten to tear into something human?_

Sated from being indulged so recently, the order was easy to ignore.

Dean knew better than to think it'd _stay_ easy to ignore.

“What's the damage,” he grumbled under his breath. “How long to get you airborne?”

Most of the systems were roughed up, but the bones of the ship were intact. The fires had been put out, the automated repairs to the hull were under way, and the radio was—

“Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck _fuck_!”

Dean cursed the whole time as he pried open a nearby panel and tore out the transmitter. The ship beeped angrily at him, a warning message flashing on the main console that communication systems were now down and a distress call couldn't be sent without immediate repairs.

It'd take more digging for him to figure out if he'd managed to prevent _all_ outgoing messages, but that would have to do for now. If the ship wasn't in imminent danger of exploding, the unconscious pilot took priority.

The ship was too small for a proper medbay, but there was enough for Dean to check for injuries and administer some pain meds. Beyond that, there was nothing useful. The ship was clearly equipped for long range solo exploration; it had anything a lone crewman would need to heal himself from minor injuries.

Anything major that he couldn't treat himself wasn't even a consideration.

“So your ship thinks you're gonna die and doesn't have the resources to make sure you don't.” He threw his head back and stared at the smooth metal paneling. This was getting worse and worse. “Fine, guess you're coming back with me.”

The trip back to Dean's place was awful. It was only three, maybe five miles away, but all of that was through forests. Alone he could've managed it no time, but carrying the unconscious pilot… Well, it sucked.

It didn't help that he could hear the damn hellhounds circling them as he carried the guy across his back. They'd gotten a healthy amount of fear beaten into them, but Dean knew from experience it wouldn't last. Come dark, they'd be more than happy to try their luck against him. Especially if they had numbers…

 _Get this guy taken care of and you can kill as many of 'em as you want,_ he promised himself.

Dean pretended that was all there was to it. That going hunting later was a reward and not a necessity.

When it got right down to it, he didn't trust himself around another living, breathing human being. Especially not one that was helpless.

He didn't have a spare bedroom, obviously, so he set the stranger up in his bed. The couch would do for now, and he figured the guy who'd nearly died deserved the better sleeping arrangements. His own medical supplies weren't great, but they were enough to actually diagnose and treat all the issues he found.

Smoke inhalation.

Concussion.

Broken ribs.

Internal bleeding.

Minor burns.

Overall the guy wasn’t in terrible shape. Granted, he probably would’ve died if Dean hadn’t found him. Dean doubted he would’ve regained consciousness on his own before it was too late, and getting himself to his mini-infirmary would’ve been a challenge. It was damn lucky he hadn’t ended up an _actual_ abandoned planet. Luckier still that he’d crashed within walking distance of Dean’s little homestead.

_And the luckiest part’ll be if I don’t strangle him in his sleep…_

Dean wasn’t a great doctor. Sam always complained that his bedside manner was lacking, and admittedly he was more practiced at the type of first aid he’d need in the field. Even so, Dean was confident this guy would pull through no worse for wear.

“I’m not gonna keep calling you ‘the guy who fucking crashed by my house.’ Fucking rude,” Dean grumbled. “And Sleeping Beauty doesn’t seem much better.”

Dog tags were old fashioned and actually dangerous in a lot of situations. Most spacefaring people had chips instead, ones inserted into the base of their wrists that could be scanned. It was especially important for explorers, traders, Hunters, and terraformers; if something went wrong—and given how dangerous their professions were, something _always_ went wrong—the chips provided the necessary personal information.   

Dean had dismantled his chip reader for spare parts months ago. Like an idiot.

“Don't need a chip reader if there are no chips to read. Just my luck though, looks like I need one.”

Putting it back together took an hour. He hadn’t taken apart the circuitry, just repurposed the battery and the screen. It was a pain finding the screws to finish it up, but in the end it worked. He tested it on his own chip, something he probably should’ve dug out when he first left but hadn’t bothered to.

_Hunter Dean M. Winchester—_

Dean cut off the feed. He didn’t want to read that garbage. Most of it wasn’t even true anymore, anyway.

Instead he grabbed the man’s wrist and held it up to the chip reader. A flash of panic shot through him when nothing came up on the screen, until he realized he’d scanned the wrong wrist. Dean sighed, put one hand down and exchanged it for the other, and scanned it.

_Captain Castiel J. Novak_

_Roman Enterprises Employee #08200918_

_Ship: The Seraphim_

_Mission: Explore and chart Regions 6A through 7F. Return and report findings. Non interference; do not collect samples or make contact._

_Projected mission duration: Five years_

_Medical Notes: 28 year old human male. Blood Type AB+. Blueberry allergy. All immunizations up to date. History of migraines._

Shit the guy—Castiel, he corrected—was young. Twenty-eight and a captain? Dean had only met a handful of captains that young, and they were all _extraordinarily_ good. Natural pilots with an aptitude for command… He’d dreamed of being captain of his own, once upon a time, before his dad got him into Hunting.

Whatever had caused Castiel to crash land, it must’ve been bad.

“Well, Castiel J. Novak of the Seraphim,” Dean said. “Welcome to Purgatory. And color me impressed. Let’s hope your ship’s in as good of shape as you are.”

Castiel didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. But admittedly, Dean kind of liked having the _possibility_ of someone actually listening.

~ ~ ~

After hunting hellhounds all through the night cycle, Dean stopped in long enough to check on Castiel before he set right back out again. His body craved sleep, but Dean didn’t trust himself. The Mark burned on his arm, silently seethed and whispered bad things. If he wanted to actually sleep, he needed to completely exhaust himself.

Fixing Castiel’s ship seemed a safe option, a way to kill two birds with one stone.

The plan was simple: make sure Castiel would recover, fix up his ship, and then get him the hell off of Purgatory before anything bad happened.

Tool kit slung over his shoulder, Dean made the hike. It was telling that even the little rabbit like critters avoided him and the birds went quiet as he approached; all the carnage the last twenty four hours had made them more cautious than usual.

Whatever. The Mark always craved more violence, but Dean's muscles ached. He'd much rather save his energy for any heavy lifting he might need to do.

The ship looked worse than he remembered, and he hadn't exactly remembered it looking good. It was salvageable, but it'd take time.

Time was not his friend.

“Stop bitching about it and get to work. Ain't gonna repair itself…”

That wasn't completely true. The automated systems had done what they could to stop the spread of damage and to make minor repairs where it could. Basically the ship had managed all the easy stuff on its own, leaving Dean with the hard stuff _plus_ the headache of having to undo some of the stop gap measures it'd employed.

The work wasn't bad. Dean quickly fell into the familiar rhythm of ship work. He wasn't an engineer or anything, but ship repair and restoration had always been a hobby of his. He remembered the old clunker of a ship his dad has gotten him as a teenager. How many hours had he poured over that engine and computer?

More modern, state of the art ships like this one, they were a whole other story. Same general principles, but a lot more checking the manual to double check wiring he wasn't as familiar with. He didn't even know what a few panels did, but damn if he wasn't going to get them up and running again.

He told himself it was in the name of research when he pulled up the ship’s logs. Maybe if he could find out more about the vessel’s mission, he’d learn more about the systems and get insight into how to repair it.

It was definitely in no way because he was curious about the ship’s pilot.

He started with the actual ship mission. A computerized voice droned on about “Operation Heaven’s Bounty,” which sounded nice and fancy but really just amounted to a glorified surveying mission through uncolonized sections of space. The goal was looking for mining sites and possibly habitable planets, though it sounded like the planets weren’t of interest to Castiel’s employer; they’d probably sell the coordinates and scans to the highest bidding terraforming company.

Once he’d done his due diligence to figure out what _The Seraphim_ was doing out here in his corner of the universe, he went on to the fun stuff.

Most captains kept audio or video logs. Dean had needed to keep them back when he was a Hunter, and he’d never even earned the title captain. The more solitary the mission, the more likely the crew was to keep logs; it was the closest thing they’d get to companionship. Dean knew all about that.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise that Castiel had a whole backlog of recordings that Dean could view. Nor was it all that surprising that they weren’t encrypted; Castiel expected to be alone for the next few years, so what was the point? Why make it harder for himself to access his own files?

Perhaps a little too eagerly, Dean started playing them. It was only so he had something to listen to while he worked. Long hours alone in the ship could be tedious, even if he was used to it, and he _craved_ new entertainment. He’d already downloaded Castiel’s rather paltry collection of movies and his much more extensive book collection for later, but while he was aboard _The Seraphim,_ he figured he may as well indulge.

It was a lot harder to feign indifference toward Castiel as he started to watch the videos.

Dean had kept his view of Castiel as clinical and detached as possible. It was easy to do while treating his wounds because Castiel had been completely comatose. Dean intellectually knew he was a person, a living being with a personality, but unconscious he was more a prop than anything else.

Seeing the logs though…

To put it frankly, the dude was hot. Vibrant blue eyes and dark hair that seemed to get messier and messier as his mission drew on. A voice even rougher and deeper than Dean’s. If it were just that, though, Dean might’ve been okay, but it was more than that. Castiel had a dry sense of humor that Dean hadn’t even picked up on the first few logs. He was clearly smart, subtly questioning his mission and superiors while technically following his orders.

He was _exactly_ Dean’s type.

Which complicated things, obviously.

The Mark laughed and sneered at him as he doubled his efforts to fix the ship. The sooner he got Castiel off this damn rock, the better off they’d both be.

~ ~ ~

Wake up. Check on Castiel. Do his chores. Eat lunch. Work on the ship until dark. Hunt. Check on Castiel. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Two days, Dean followed that routine. Two days and Dean managed to resist a temptation he _should not have_. Then on the third day, he broke.

Dean switched on the dashboard camera as he fiddled around on the console. While the main computer ran diagnostics, he might as well keep himself entertained.

“Heya Cas,” he said with a wink. _Cas? **Cas?** What am I doing? _ “I’m Dean, the guy whose planet who crash landed on. If you’re lucky, we won’t ever meet face to face… I’m hoping to get you into orbit before you wake up. Just wanted you to have a face and a name to place with the random guy who fiddled around with your ship and nursed you back to health.

“It's been going pretty well so far. You're healing up pretty well, the ship's finally starting to cooperate with me, and only another day or two stands between you and the wide open skies.”

He smiled weakly. There wasn't anything else to say, really. He'd never planned to introduce himself to Castiel at all. If he were smart, he'd shut off the camera, delete this recording, and never—

“So your name is Castiel, which is an angel’s name… You’re on a ship named after angels… And you’re on a mission with the codename Heaven’s Bounty…” Dean laughed. “Guess I got myself a fallen angel on my hands.”

Dean winced. Was he seriously flirting via video repair logs with the cute pilot he’d rescued?

Clearly he’d been on this damn rock for far too long.

_Or you need to get laid._

… That was possibly an even worse suggestion that the vitriol the Mark spewed at him on a regular basis, and he had no one to blame but himself for that one. He hadn’t even _thought_ about sex since he’d gotten the Mark, and now all of a sudden his dick was interested? What the actual fuck?

“Alright, I've embarrassed myself enough for one video… See ya, Cas. Hope you've got nothing but smooth sailing from here on out.”

He shut off the camera and bit his lip to keep from berating himself. What the fuck was he doing? That was dangerous, letting someone know who he was and where he was… What if word got back to Sam?

 _It’s okay,_ he told himself. He still had time to delete the log if he wanted to.

~ ~ ~

He didn’t delete the log. He wanted Cas to know who he was.

~ ~ ~

Two days later, Cas still hadn’t woken up. It worried Dean, but all his vitals were improving so he ignored it. The ship wasn’t ready, anyway.

In the evenings, Dean would check on Cas. He found himself lingering there, double checking the vital signs more than he needed to. In the end, it felt like he was putting himself out of his misery to admit he wanted to stay.

“You got yourself a lot of books,” Dean said as he pulled up a chair next to the bed. Cas didn’t react to Dean’s voice, but he never did. “Figure today we’ll start with the one your computer says you’ve read the most. _Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens. It’s one of the classics I’ve never actually read before, so I’m actually looking forward to this one. ‘My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip…’”

Hours passed like that without Dean even noticing. Only once his voice was hoarse did Dean stop, and even then he made himself some tea and kept going. He didn’t go to sleep that night until he realized he’d drifted off mid sentence.

“Night Cas,” he said around a yawn. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow night, ‘kay? Don’t stand me up or I’ll be really disappointed.” He patted Cas’ knee on the way back out to the living room.

No one was there to see it, but Dean definitely had a smile on his face as he fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

Dean noticed he was hunting less and less. All his free time went to either working on _The Seraphim_ or reading to Cas. Hunting wasn’t really all that interesting by comparison.

The Mark still burned and raged in the quiet moments before he went to sleep, but otherwise it let him be.

~ ~ ~

The reading thing kept up a few more days. It was the closest thing to companionship Dean had had in _years_ , and he liked it. He couldn’t help adding his own commentary as he went. More often than not, he’d go off on tangents about his own life—hunting trips with his dad and then later Hunting trips with Sam—and made guesses about Castiel’s past. When he ran out of things to say, he went back to reading.

They got through _Great Expectations_ and then Dean pulled out his copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ (“A _real_ book. None of this digital text crap you’ve got going.”).

“Whaddya think, Cas?” Dean asked as he flipped pages. “One more chapter tonight?”

He didn’t expect an answer, which made the touch to his right arm that much worse.

A brush of fingertips grazed along the Mark. Dean jerked away, vision going red. He barely registered that Cas wasn’t awake; that gentle contact had been no more than an unfortunate accident. Not that it mattered. It took everything Dean had not to lose it right then.

 _Dean_ didn’t touch the Mark, not if he could help it, and this—this _stranger_ did it—

 _He didn’t mean to!_ he protested. _Don’t make me hurt him!_

 _It doesn’t matter_ , a voice whispered back. _He woke me up, now he has to pay_.

Dean might hate touching the Mark, but he did it now, clutching it with his left hand as if that could do anything to contain the rage radiating outward. In moments like this, there was only one way to soothe the Mark.

His blade was where he’d left it, coated in dried hellhound blood. The Mark practically sang when he picked it up and stormed out into the blackness. A half moon lit the way to the woods and Dean roared as he approached the treeline. Howls answered back almost instantly. Apparently the damn dogs had missed him while he was gone…

It was like an out of body experience. Dean saw everything his body did with disinterest. He felt nothing as he tore out one hellhound’s throat with his bare hands. Felt nothing when he smashed another’s head in with a rock. Felt nothing when he ripped out the entrails of another. His conscious self was detached from it all, all thoughts back with Castiel.

_I hope he’s okay…_

There was a lull in the fighting and Dean came back to himself. There was yipping all around him, but the hellhounds stayed clear. He did a quick mental inventory to see if he was hurt: knuckles bruised, ache in his side, sweat stinging his eyes, dick hard—

Oh.

 _Oh_.

The Mark had claimed a lot of things since it’d found its way to his arm. He’d experienced more than his fair share of rage and bloodlust, and the rest of his emotions had been muted. Arousal wasn’t something he felt often, and normally it passed so quickly he never had a chance to act on it. His body craved other things, things just as primal but so much nastier.

Now, though, all his nerve-endings fired with desire. The type of release he craved, it wasn’t one Dean knew how to handle after so long without.

Instinct took over. He stumbled over to the nearest tree. His shoulder dug into the bark of the tree, agitating some injury he hadn’t noticed before but he ignored it. His hands shook as he worked his belt and then the fly of his hands. The first touch to his cock drew a hiss out of him, his hand wrapping around it a sigh of relief.

If he’d had any sense of shame left, he’d have been embarrassed to be jerking off in the middle of the woods. Luckily for him, he didn’t care. It felt good, and he chased that feeling. Going on three years now, the only true pleasure he’d gotten was from killing, and now, _now_ his body thrummed with excitement.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed. He dropped his head back against the tree and let his body work him toward the edge. As his orgasm approached, all the dark bloody angry thoughts disappeared… only to be replaced with visions of blue eyes and the sound of a deep, husky voice whispering filth in his ears—

“Cas…”

Dean definitely did _not_ whimper as he came.

He was light-headed the whole walk back to the house. Even the Mark was quiet, unsure what to make of the past hour or maybe drowned out by the last remaining tendrils of bliss coursing through him. Either way, Dean was alone in his head and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Because without the Mark to distract him, all he wanted to think about Castiel.

_Dangerous. Too dangerous. Don’t think about Cas. **Don’t think about Cas...**_

He practically knocked the door off its hinges when he slammed it shut behind him. Completely bypassing the bedroom, Dean stalked towards the bathroom to clean himself up. He absolutely could _not_ trust himself around Cas right now. Not when he had all these conflicting but utterly dangerous thoughts about the other man clouding his judgement.

Not when kissing and killing him were equally appealing options.

This was bad, right? This was the first time sex had _ever_ been a reaction to the Mark. Was this something he should explore—?

_NO! You keep Cas out of this. This is **your** problem, you do **not** get to drag anyone down with you._

He was determined to keep distance between himself and Cas. It shouldn’t be hard; Cas was still unconscious and would hopefully be gone soon. Dean could deal with a bit of sexual frustration until then, right?

Right.

It was in everyone’s best interest if he stayed away. No more reading to Cas. He’d check in on him twice a day as usual, but he wouldn’t stay.

~ ~ ~

Dean woke up hard the next day. Funny how quickly he’d forgotten that morning wood was a thing. He resolutely ignored his erection and skipped checking on Cas until after his chores.

He didn’t read to Cas that night.

He didn’t hunt, either. He just didn’t have the energy for it.

~ ~ ~

“If I were a better doctor and I didn’t think it might kill you,” Dean growled as he sat down next to Cas’ bed. “I would totally have you in a medically induced coma right now. But I’m not going to do that.”

And then as angrily as he could manage, he continued reading _Slaughterhouse Five._ He practically shouted the first few paragraphs at Cas, but his anger fizzled out after that. It wasn’t like Cas had done anything to deserve it; he’d made the mistake of crash landing here. He doubted Cas _wanted_ to crash at all, nevermind here.

When he was too tired to keep going, Dean closed the book and looked down at Cas. He had a decent amount of stubble growing. Dean wouldn’t mind running his hand across it—

“Sorry,” Dean said gruffly. “If you do happen to wake up, I’m probably gonna be an asshole to you. So, y’know, sorry in advance. It’s not anything you did. And trust me, if we’d met a few years ago, things would be totally different. I really _would_ be flirting with you, because let’s face it, you’re smokin’ hot even when you’re Mr. Comatose. But it’s now, and I can’t… I shouldn’t… I _won’t_ risk you, okay? You deserve better than that.”

It was getting harder and harder to walk away, but Dean managed it anyway.

~ ~ ~

“I swear,” Dean said as he turned the page. “If you wake up and tell me you don’t like Vonnegut, that’s it. It’s over. I’ll kick you off this planet so fast you’ll get whiplash.”

He looked over the edges of the book with a grin.

Two blue eyes were staring back at him.

“Shit,” he said. He dropped the book and jumped to his feet to check Cas’ vitals. “You okay? You thirsty? Hungry? I know the IV takes care of some of that stuff, but it ain’t the same as actually _eating_ —”

“Who are you?”

Dean suppressed a shiver. Cas’ voice had always sounded rough on his video logs; now it was positively sinful. He turned away from the monitors and offered a weak smile.

“Name’s Dean. Your ship crashed on my planet a couple weeks ago. Both you and your ship were in rough shape. Ship’s coming along, but it’s hard doing repairs with just one set of hands working. You I was more worried about. You didn’t really wake up and I started to wonder…” He trailed off. This was really awkward.

Castiel licked his lips. “ _Your_ planet?”

“Well, I don’t own it, but yeah. I’m the only one here.”

“Terraformer?”

“... Not quite.” Dean had known Cas waking up before he was in orbit was a possibility. The longer it took Dean to get the ship ready, the more he’d had to acknowledge that he would probably be meeting Cas face to face.

Now that Cas was awake, Dean realized he’d never _actually_ thought it was going to happen.

“Look, I’m gonna get you that water, okay? Then we can talk.”

Without waiting for an answer, Dean went out to the kitchen. Getting water didn’t take enough time, so he made a PB&J sandwich. That _still_ hadn’t bought him enough time, but he couldn’t really avoid the guy forever.

Cas was sitting against the headboard and poking through the tablet that had his stats on it. “These were a lot of injuries,” he said, barely acknowledging Dean’s entry other than to accept the glass of water. “I feel weak, but of course I would after so long in bed. Other than that I don’t have any real aches or pain.”

He finally looked up at Dean. Fuck were his eyes bluer in person.

“You did a good job. Thank you.”

“Uh…” Dean’s people skills were really rusty if he couldn’t even put together a simple sentence. “You’re—you’re welcome.”

“So you’re not a terraformer, but you live on a planet by yourself…” There was a question in his tone and Dean blushed.

“I’d rather not get into it.” Instead of pushing for more, Cas shrugged and let it be. Thank god. “How long you been up, by the way?”

“Not too long. Only a chapter or so. I’ve been coming in and out of consciousness for a while now, but I was too exhausted to do more than roll over. I probably won’t be up more than a few minutes as it is.”

Cas motioned for the sandwich and Dean handed it over. He took a huge bite and practically moaned around it.

“Sorry,” he said, mouth full. “All I have on my ship are ration packets. I haven’t had anything resembling actual food in months. Roman Enterprises might have a lot of money, but it’s mostly because they skimp and save where they can.” He took a few more bites. “‘S good. Would it be too much to ask for another?”

He went through three more sandwiches before he slumped back into the bed. It was adorable.

“Sorry I’m not great company right now,” Cas muttered. “Not that I’d be much better otherwise, but at least now I have an excuse.”

 _I think you’re great company,_ he wanted to say.

What actually came out was, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

Cas mumbled something that might have been “good night.” Dean slipped out of the bedroom, resting against the door once he’d closed it. He was in way over his head with this one.

~ ~ ~

All in all, Cas took it rather well. He muttered about how it was “just his luck” and “crappy Leviathan engineering,” but other than that he accepted the situation.

“I can help with repairs,” he offered as Dean cleaned up their breakfast. “Now that I’m not an invalid. It’ll probably go faster between the two of us anyway.”

Dean hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea…”

“Why not?”

“You’re awake, but you said it yourself, you’re feeling weak. It’s not like you crashed in my backyard. It’s a five mile hike through the woods. I think you’re better off staying around here and getting some more lowkey exercise in. Give it a couple days of solid meals and walks around the farm before you try anything more strenuous.”

“... You carried me five miles through the woods to get me here?”

“... Yeah?”

If Cas thought that strange, he didn’t comment. “Very well. Though please download a ship report so I can take a look at it? Not that I don’t trust you, but I’ll be bored out of my mind. May as well have something to keep me occupied while you’re gone.”

“Yeah, of course. I got some books and stuff you could poke around through for entertainment while I’m gone. Other than that, there ain’t a whole lot going on on this rock.”

“On a planet in the middle of nowhere? I’m astonished. You don’t have a museum or art gallery?”

“Nope, ‘fraid not.” Dean caught himself grinning and reeled it in. “But try not to go to far. There are animals and stuff wandering around. The small ones are friendly enough, but the big ones’ll attack if they get the chance. I don’t really have any guns or anything…”

“Then what do you do?”

Dean shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as he looked everywhere but at Cas. “I got a blade. They’re not too bad if you’re healthy and can fight ‘em off. I just don’t want them giving you trouble because you’re not 100% yet.”

“Fair enough.”

~ ~ ~

“You made dinner?” Dean asked. It smelled positively _divine_ in the house.

“Hope you don’t mind.” Cas was draining pasta over the sink. “I probably should’ve asked first before I went through your pantry—”

“No, no it’s fine. I mean, I’ve been knee high in your ship’s wiring. I think we’re past the asking permission to go through each other’s things.”

“I suppose so.”

It was rude of him, but Dean was too busy stuffing his face to talk all that much. He listened to Cas talk about his day, asked a few questions about his past. He made the mistake of being a little too specific.

“I might’ve listened to some of your logs,” Dean admitted sheepishly when Cas raised an eyebrow.

“You’re right,” Cas said, “I shouldn’t feel bad about going through your pantry.”

But other than that, conversation went smoothly. Dean was acutely aware of the fact that they’d probably be great friends if circumstances were different. Too bad.

~ ~ ~

For his own sake, Dean tried to keep space between them. They hung out, that was unavoidable, but Dean held back. He avoided personal questions and didn’t let himself get too attached. The few times Cas might’ve actually been flirting with him, Dean walked away. He did _not_ need that temptation.

And one rule he absolutely did _not_ break: he did _not_ touch Cas. He remembered all too well the way the Mark had reacted before and he didn’t want that to happen again. He’d already had to increase the time he spent hunting to avoid the

Other than that, things were good. Cas was getting better, enough that he was almost up to making the hike out to his ship, and their friendship, such as it was, was actually pretty nice. It was going to suck when Cas left, but hopefully the memories would help ease Dean’s loneliness later on.

~ ~ ~

“The hike wasn’t that bad,” Cas grit out. He looked about to collapse. “I just neglected to consider that after going _to_ the ship, we’d have to come _back._ ”

“Yeah, hiking’s a bitch like that.” He tried not to laugh at Cas, but it was kinda cute.

“Fuck,” Cas hissed as he stumbled over a branch. Dean immediately reached out to catch him, but his balance was thrown off and they stumbled together a few steps before they actually regained their footing.

Cas pressed against his chest, his arms on Cas’... It was the most physical contact he’d had in ages. Heat coursed through him and he couldn’t help but swallow when he saw Cas lick his lips—

Far more roughly than he meant to, he pushed Cas away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

He backed up until he’d put a few feet between them, enough for Dean to start thinking clearly again.

_Do. **Not**. Touch!_

“Why are you so surly all the time?” Cas snapped. “Do you dislike me? Is it because you’ve been alone on this planet for so long you don’t know how to not be an asshole anymore? Or are you alone on this planet because you’ve _always_ been an asshole?”

Cas sounded as frustrated as Dean was. Not that Dean could blame him; Dean at least knew _why_ he was being a dick, and Cas had no clue.

“Uh… I-I don’t have a good answer.” Not a simple one, anyway.

“Except you’re _not_ an asshole. You fix my ship for me. You take care of my injuries. I could maybe account for that as you trying to get rid of me as soon as possible, but there are other things. You read to me while I was unconscious and you leave books for me while you continue to work on my ship. You go out of your way to make me food I like, using up your own stores for _me_ , a _stranger_.”

As he spoke, Cas pushed more and more into Dean’s space. By the end of his little speech, Dean was backed up against a tree. Looking down the two inches difference between them, Dean felt his heart beating double time. Fuck, Cas was hot when he was angry…

_Don’t get a boner, do **not** get a boner._

“Answer me,” Cas growled. “What’s your problem with me?”

_Too late…_

“I uh… I know it’s hard to trust me since you don’t _know_ me… But _please_ believe that I’m looking out for your best interests… Seriously, me keeping my distance? It’s better that way.”

Cas continued to glare at him, eyes searching Dean for something. After a moment, he deflated. “Fine,” he said dismissively and stormed back down the path. “Don’t tell me. It’s personal, I get it. We’re not really friends, anyway.”

~ ~ ~

“I’m sorry,” Dean said and handed Cas a wrench. Cas didn’t even peak out from where he was inside an access hatch. “You’re right. I’m an asshole for no reason. I can’t get into why… I _shouldn’t_ … But I’ll try to be better, okay?”

“Good.” Cas took the wrench, his hand disappearing with the rest of his torso. “I don’t have much choice for company right now. I’d hate to be stuck dealing with a self-righteous assbutt who can’t consistently be nice to be.”

“... Sorry.”

“Don’t _tell_ me you’re sorry.” Now Cas crawled back out and pushed the wrench squarely against Dean’s chest. “ _Show_ me you’re sorry. Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah. Yeah I can handle that.”

Cas gave him a genuine smile for the first time since The Incident. “Alright then. Help me with the air regulator?”

“Sure thing, Cas.”

~ ~ ~

“What is that?” Cas asked, gesturing to Dean’s arm.

Pulling his sleeves down to cover the Mark was a reflex, but he stopped himself at Cas’ inquisitive look. “Nothing.”

Cas remained carefully quiet for a moment as he considered Dean’s answer. “You don’t have to tell me, obviously, but I would prefer you not lie and say it’s nothing when it is very clearly _something_.”

Dean wanted to take the out Cas offered. To agree that it wasn’t _nothing_ , but that it was something he did _not_ want to talk about. Because he didn’t. Every day he dealt with it, had to see the evidence of how it’d ruined his life.

_Didn’t **completely** ruin your life. If you hadn’t gotten the Mark, you’d have never ended up on Purgatory. You would’ve never been here to save Cas. Hell, you’d have never even **met** Cas… _

It was that thought that made him open his mouth and actually give Cas a proper answer.

“I’m a Hunter. Or I was. They call us in for bounties, tracking down people who’re hiding on the outskirts of explored space… Sometimes they call us in to a new planet ahead of the terraformers, making sure it’s safe. Killing things that need to be killed…”

Cas nodded, silently encouraging Dean to go on.

“One of those planets… They’d already had an outpost stationed there. Already had Hunters come in to clear the way, but they were having problems. People disappearing at night… people going mad… Strange markings appearing on their arms…” He flexed his right arm; Cas’ eyes tracked the movement. “Me and my brother, we were sent in to figure out what was going on. Didn’t take long for me to get a Mark of my own.”

It was a painful memory, one long neglected and ignored. Even so, now that he was talking about it, it came to him in vivid detail. What it felt like to step onto the unforgiving surface of Planet Cain. Stepping into that cave and breathing in the foul air. The Mark burning its way onto his skin like a brand.

Then nothing but anger and bloodlust and an insatiable need to cut, maim, kill, hurt, _ruin_ everything in his path…

“I wasn’t the only one affected, but I’m the only one still alive. There was something about the planet that we just couldn’t control. The Hunters decided to quarantine the planet, shipped everyone unaffected somewhere else. Those of us who’d been infected…” Dean shrugged. “Most of us were killed as other people tried to defend themselves. The rest were sent off to prison camps or put down like rabid dogs.

“I’m only alive because my brother helped. Sam, he drugged me long enough to get me past the other Hunters. We had some doctor friends, he figured they’d be able to help cure me. Five months of being poked and prodded and _constantly_ wanting to wrap my hands around their necks and squeeze the life out of them…”

Dean laughed humorlessly.

“I knew there was no curing me. I didn’t want them to have to kill me if I got too far gone, so I convinced them to give me a ship. I picked a direction and flew. Did my best to make myself untrackable and just kept going until I ran out of fuel. Found a planet that was halfway habitable and settled in. Been here ever since.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected after a story like that. Maybe some disbelief or shock, some ooohs and ahhhs, some sympathy. Should’ve known better than to try and predict Cas would react.

“I see.”

“What, that’s it? You _see_?”

Cas shrugged. “I’m not sure what else I should say. I—” He stopped to lick his lips. “I know you _think_ there’s no cure, that you’re some monster past reason. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps there’s no cure that will remove that mark from your arm or stop the dark thoughts that make you want to go out there day after day and kill the hellish creatures on this planet.

“But you and I both know you’re not past reason. I’ve been here how long and you haven’t killed me? I was unconscious for weeks, unable to defend myself should you have wanted to hurt me, and you didn’t. You cared for me, cleaned and bandaged my wounds while fixing my ship. You’re not beyond hope.”

Dean sat there, shocked beyond words. Everything in him screamed in denial, that Cas was _wrong_ to see goodness in him, but he couldn’t deny the essence of what Cas said. He _hadn’t_ hurt Cas. The Mark had _demanded_ it, but he hadn’t touched him at all.

What the hell did that mean?

“Thank you for sharing with me, Dean.” Cas stood up and moved to leave the room. As he passed Dean, he squeezed his shoulder.

The touch burned hotter than the Mark on his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He liked that feeling.

~ ~ ~

"These are _cow_ steaks, right?” Cas asked. “I’m not sure how I’d feel about eating those hellhounds… Or any of the other animals from this planet, actually.”

Dean tried not to laugh. “You seen the black goo that comes out of those things? I’m not _that_ low on food that I’m willing to eat those things. These are freeze dried steaks, I promise.”

“Good. Unless you want your steak well done, I suggest you cook those while I do the vegetables.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Things between them had been a lot better since Dean had told Cas about the Mark. Cas was more understanding when Dean pulled back, letting Dean storm off until he had control again. Dean hadn’t even realized there’d been tension between them until it was gone.

_Should’ve opened up to him sooner…_

“Shit,” Cas hissed. The rest of what he said was muffled a little. “Damn knife’s sharp.”

Wait, what?

Dean turned from the steaks to see Cas sucking on his thumb. A small splatter of blood was on the edge of the cutting board, and when Cas took his thumb out of his mouth, there was a red line across it.

“Cas…” His voice shook and hopefully Cas would understand the warning.

“It’s alright,” Cas said dismissively. He used his other hand to poke at the wound. “Not… too… deep…” Finally he understood something was wrong. Eyes narrowed in concern, he stepped towards Dean. “What’s wrong—?”

“Stay back!” Dean shouted. All he could see was the blood. Bright red and oh so fresh. There was more there, he wanted to see _more_ —

Dean had about two seconds to do something before he regretted it. Storming out would be best. Rein in what control he had left and run until his legs wouldn't carry him anymore.

He took one step, then another, but to his growing horror he realized he wasn’t moving towards the door. He was moving towards Cas, backing him against the nearest wall. Trapping him, his arms bracketing him in so he couldn’t escape.

“Dean?” The idiot didn’t even sound scared, just _concerned_. Like Dean was the one in trouble right now. Dean’s arms flexed as he struggled to keep them pressed to the wall; the faint movement caught Cas’ eye. His shirt did nothing to conceal the Mark. It almost glowed a faint red and throbbed painfully on his arm. Dean watched as understanding dawned on Cas’ face.

_Now he understands. Now he sees the danger he’s in._

“Dean?” he whispered calmly, like he was trying to soothe a spooked animal. Even so, there was a flash of fear in Cas’ eyes, a tremor in his voice.

The Mark _loved_ it, wanted more. Wanted to play a game of cat and mouse until there was nothing left of Cas but a bloody stain on Dean’s floor—

Dean did the only think he could think of to distract himself. He surged forward and kissed Cas roughly.

Cas gasped, which only gave Dean better access as he forced his tongue inside. His hands finally moved, but only to grab Cas’ hips and hold him in place as he slotted between Cas’ legs. Cas tasted and felt and smelled _divine_. The Mark tried to urge him to squeeze harder, to move his grip to Cas’ throat instead, but lust drowned it out. Dean didn’t want to _hurt_ , he wanted to _dominate_.

Okay, maybe he kinda wanted to hurt, too.

But as soon as he tried to manhandle Cas towards the bedroom, Cas growled and fought back. He didn’t try to push Dean away or stop the kissing; if anything, he was rougher than Dean as he tore off their clothes and nipped at Dean’s bottom lip. Dean forcefully pushed Cas onto the couch, smiling wickedly as Cas bounced on the cushions, then Dean followed. Each kiss was messy, too hard, _too angry_ , but they kept going.

Cas would probably have bruises later. A lot of them. The small, rational part of Dean’s mind felt bad about that, but the rest of him delighted in it. The Mark, too, enjoyed that it was given some room to breathe; every time Cas gasped or whined in pain, the Mark sang.

It wasn’t as though Cas were a passive participant. He gave as good as he got. Any time Dean got too rough, Cas would grab a fistful of his hair and _yank_ ; he bit and scratched and occasionally pinched Dean’s nipples until it was Dean whimpering in pain.

It was _awesome_.

In the end, they stopped wrestling for control and settled for rutting against each other. They hadn’t managed to get their boxers off, but it didn’t matter. It felt so fucking good. Better than jerking off in the woods, better than fingering himself in the shower, better than mindlessly killing creatures in the dark.

As Dean spiraled towards bliss, he wished for more. Lube had been the last thing on his mind when he’d packed and left, and he regretted it now. He’d love nothing more than to properly fuck each other’s brains out. He wondered if Cas had any on his ship.

_Oh well, too far away. Not stopping. Maybe next time._

_… Next time?_

“Could you move… to the left…” Cas moaned and then shook his head. “No, no… _my_ left…” He practically snarled as he forcibly pushed Dean’s hips where he wanted them, then threw his head back. “Yesssss right there… keep going… Dean…”

Dean had blacked out plenty of times while under the Mark’s control. He’d lose control and find himself covered in blood and guts; it’d always been unsettling. When he came, he had a similar experience, but this time when he blinked back to awareness, a strange sense of peace surrounded him.

He’d never been good at this part of sex. The awkwardness after. Did he stay? Did he go? Did they talk about it? It probably didn’t help that he’d never been one for actual relationships, getting by solely on one night stands and the occasional friends with benefits arrangements.

But Cas wasn’t really either, was he?

Dean tried to pull away and leave. Cas had been rather enthusiastic, but it didn’t change the fact that Dean had jumped the guy. What if Cas hadn’t actually _wanted_ — It hurt too much to think about that possibility. No matter what the circumstances, Cas would need time to process it. Figure out if he was okay with what Dean had done or if he never wanted to see Dean ever again.

The moment Dean got his foot on the floor, Cas grabbed his arm and yanked him back down.

“Stay,” Cas ordered, tone brockering no argument. “Sleep.”

He shouldn’t.

He _wouldn’t._

“Okay.”

The couch wasn’t really big enough for two grown men. They had to wiggle around to find a position that was almost comfortable for each of them, but they managed it eventually. Dean fell asleep in Cas’ arms.

He didn’t dream.

~ ~ ~

Dean struggled against Cas’ hold on him. Cas tightened his grip; if Dean wanted to get away, it’d be tough.

He didn’t want to.

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” Cas said as he rolled his hips forward. Their cocks slid together perfectly. “I know you don’t believe it… But you will. I’m going to keep telling you until you _do_ believe it. Every… fucking… day…” Each word was punctuated by another thrust, each harder than the last.

“Cas…”

Cas shifted his weight so that he could hold both of Dean’s wrists in his left hand; his right hand slid between them and jerked them off.

“Not a lot of people would do what you did. You knew the mark was hurting you, would make you hurt others, and you left. Not a lot of people are strong enough for that.”

Between the Mark spitting venom in his ear and Cas talking absolute nonsense, it was hard for Dean to think.

“I ran away. That’s not special…”

Cas’ hand squeezed around them, thumb brushing over the head of Dean’s cock to spread his pre-release.

“Oh trust me, it is.”

Dean didn’t bother arguing.

~ ~ ~

The ship was repaired. The only damage that was left was cosmetic.

Cas was better. Not a sign of anything amiss.

Still, he stuck around. He helped Dean in the fields. They shared cooking duties and split the chores. They wound up in bed together night after night. When Dean went hunting, Cas waited up for him.

It was a cute lil’ domestic fantasy they’d built for themselves.

Too bad it was just that. A fantasy.

They were both putting off the inevitable. Cas would have to leave sooner or later and resume his mission. His life. Dean was too much of a coward to bring it up; he spent everyday waiting for the news. Every time Cas opened his mouth to speak, Dean waited with baited breath because _oh no it was finally happening._

The days dragged on.

The suspense drove Dean crazy.

The Mark loved it.

~ ~ ~

“Why can’t you put the damn dishes in the sink?” Dean snapped. “Or the laundry in the bin? You’re such a fucking slob, Cas.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Apologies. I didn’t realize you were that much of a neat freak. I suppose I’m just used to being on my own.”

“Yeah, and it shows.”

It was hard to keep pushing for no reason, when the anger brewing under the surface had nothing to do with Cas and everything to do with Dean. But he had to do this. He _had_ to.

For Cas’ own good.

“... I guess I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

“You do that.”

On and on it went.

“Stop hogging the blanket. And stay on your side of the bed.”

“You did a shit job in the fields today. Again.”

“Way to waste the good coffee. Try sleeping more if you’re tired.”

“You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, you know that? How _you_ became a captain I’ll never know.”

“C’mon, Cas, we both know you’re too weak to come hunting with me.”

Cas glared daggers at Dean.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said evenly. “And you need to stop, or it might actually work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean shot back.

_Please don’t see through me. Leave, be safe._

_Please see through me. I don’t want to lose you._

~ ~ ~

Three months after Cas crash landed and upended his whole life and one month after Dean started purposefully driving him away, Dean woke up to the sound of a ship taking off.

_No. No no no no—_

He rushed outside in time to see a ship streaking across the sky. _The Seraphim_ took almost the same path up into orbit that it’d taken on its way down, though much more gracefully. Long after it’d disappeared from sight, Dean stood there watching.

_Please come back, I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. I thought you knew it was an act…_

The sky remained clear.

The Mark laughed and laughed.

~ ~ ~

Dean raged. He threw things, knocked over tables, punched a hole in a wall. Went outside and took a shovel to some of his crops. On and on his tantrum went until it abruptly fizzled out.

In the end, once his anger was spent, he felt empty.

~ ~ ~

Misery was Dean’s constant companion.

Nothing mattered because he was alone on this stupid planet again. He was going to die alone, with no one but some mindless hellhounds and the Mark to keep him company.

 _Yes,_ the Mark agreed. _Kill. Let’s have fun._

_This is all you have left._

Dean ignored that voice; what was the point? Why go out and kill when he could stay at home? Drink out of Cas’ favorite mug. Re-read Cas’ favorite book. Hike to where Cas’ ship had been and plant Cas’ favorite flowers.

Make Cas’ favorite meal and hold back tears when he realized he’d made enough for two.

Time stretched on, the days nearly identical. Dean went through the motions of doing his chores. Tend the fields. Eat. Patch up the house. Eat. Mope around until he was tired enough to sleep. Dream of Cas and not feel like a shell of a person until he woke up and realized it wasn’t real.

Fuck, he hated his life.

It took a week before he noticed he didn’t hunt anymore. The only killing he did was to keep hellhounds away from the garden and farm, but it wasn’t fun or satisfying like it used to be. Most of the time, if the hellhounds ran off, he didn’t even bother to chase after and finish the job. The Mark nudged him along, but its grasp on him was tenuous at best.

That was when he realized the sad truth: he’d broken the Mark’s hold because of Cas… and Cas wasn’t even there to see it.

~ ~ ~

Noises disrupted Dean’s sleep but he ignored them. He rolled over and buried himself in his blankets. When he was half asleep, they still kinda smelled like Cas.

The shift of someone crawling onto the bed felt like a dream. It was one he’d had plenty of times before, so he didn’t question it. Just opened up his arms.

“Hello Dean.”

“Mmm, missed you,” Dean said as he mouthed along Cas’ neck between kisses.

“I missed you too. Move over, you’re taking up my side of the bed.”

Dean waited for the dream to settle back into darkness, but it didn’t. If anything, the world became clearer and the details crisper. What finally made it real was the smell: Cas had that cloying smell of a decontamination bay.

“Cas?” He sat up and stared down at Cas. His fingers reached out to touch but he pulled back. Bright blue eyes stared up at him expectantly, so Dean tried again. This time he brushed some stray strands of hair off of Cas’ forehead, hand lingering as he cradled his cheek. “You’re really here?”

“You dream of me that often you couldn’t tell the difference?” Cas teased. “Yes, I’m back.”

“How—why—?”

“Radio was too weak to get a proper signal out from the planet,” Cas said as he burrowed under the blankets with Dean. “Had to cover my tracks, make it look like I’d gotten lost in some _other_ system instead of here. I doubt they’ll send a search party, anyway. I’m not that important. I sent out a fake distress call with all my research, so Roman Enterprises will be satisfied to change my status to MIA.”

“You came back?” Dean asked, voice full of awe.

“I never technically left. I’ve been in orbit this whole time. I tried to stay where you could see, so you’d _know_ —”

“I—” The confession hurt, but it felt important to say. “I couldn’t stand looking at the sky.”

“Dean…” Cas cradled his face between his hands and kissed Dean on the forehead. “I left to give you some space. You seemed convinced that you had to get rid of me, and I thought some time to yourself to think it through might help. But it should go without saying that I will always come back.”

“You could’ve left a note,” Dean grumbled.

“I actually _did_ leave a note. It was on the fridge. Though I notice there are a few more broken plates and dishes than when I left…”

The rest went unsaid: Cas knew Dean hadn’t taken the departure well.

“Whoops.”

“Uh huh.” Far from looking annoyed, Cas smiled indulgently at him. “I also noticed you cleaned up most of it. You been doing okay without me?”

“Yeah,” he said defensively, then instantly deflated. “No.”

“You want me to stay?”

“ _Yes_.”

There was more that they could’ve said. The L word hung between them, a feeling growing more and more evident the longer they were together and that was absolutely screaming for attention now that they were reunited. Dean had beaten the Mark for Cas; Cas had left his old life for Dean. That type of devotion, it didn’t come without out of nowhere.

Later, though. They had all the time in the world to confess how they really felt. They could do it on their own time, when the moment felt right and not just the after effects of their reunion.

For now, all Dean wanted was to hold Cas and thank his lucky stars that they’d ever ended up stuck together on this god awful planet.

~ ~ ~

Dean didn’t bring it up until dinner. They ate out in the yard, a picnic blanket spread out so they could watch the sun set over the mountains. The stars were as bright as ever. The constellations were all wrong, but Dean figured he and Cas might have fun making up some new ones of their own.

“I think I’ve beaten the Mark,” Dean said carefully.

“Oh.” There wasn’t a whole lot that could surprise Cas, but apparently Dean had managed it now. “How?”

He shrugged. Power of Love sounded awfully corny, so he tried to come up with a better way to explain it. “Found something that’s stronger.”

Cas reached out to take Dean’s hand and squeezed it. “Do you want to leave, then? Go back home and find your brother—?”

“No,” Dean said quickly. The mere idea of seeing Sam again had Dean biting the inside of his cheek to hush the Mark. “I _think_ I have control, but I’m not going to risk other people until I _know_ I do. I need more time.”

 _With you,_ he added. _Need more time soaking up your presence, making your strength my strength… You’re the cure, and I need to make sure I’ve got enough of it before I can leave._

“Alright,” Cas said, lifting their joined hands to kiss Dean’s knuckles. “Not yet. Maybe one day, but for now, I’m more than content to stay here with you until you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Cas.” A mischievous grin spread across his face before he could stop it. “Besides, I like having my own guardian angel watching out for me.”

— fin —

 

**Epilogue:**

Sam was intrigued when Bobby gave him an encrypted message. He was a Hunter by trade, but he liked tinkering with languages and encryption codes as a hobby. He figured Bobby was just indulging that interest.

Then he realized it wasn’t just _a_ encrypted message. It was an encrypted message _addressed to him._

What the hell?

It’d taken him the better part of a month to get through it. He learned pretty early on that it was a video message, but the data had been put through the ringer to scramble it. Sam was patient, though, and he knew he’d get through it.

When he finally cracked it, he smiled in triumph and immediately hit _play_.

And then Dean’s face appeared on the screen, more beard on him that Sam had ever seen and looking impossibly tired.

Sam didn’t know _what_ he’d expected, but it sure as hell hadn’t been _that_.

“Personal Log, Week One. And no, I’m not counting all the weeks in space because fuck that. Nope, we’re starting over right here on terra firma.”

Sam tried not to cry. This was his brother, his _brother_. He hadn’t seen Dean in _years_ , and now all of a sudden he got a message. It was too much. He sniffled and rubbed at his eyes.

“Not a whole lot to say. Found a decent planet. It’s habitable. Got some vegetation I might even be able to eat. The locals aren’t real friendly. Big ol’ dog things. Gonna kill me a bunch of those, I bet.”

Dean offered a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes; he scratched at the edges of his sleeve where the Mark was hidden. Sam’s heart went out to him. Watching the settlers lose their minds had been bad enough; it’d been infinitely worse when it’d been Dean going through it.

“Naming this place Purgatory. Figure since I’m stuck in limbo, it’s as good a name as any. All I’ve done so far is land and do some scans, so I’ve got a lot of work to do. I gotta convert the ship to a house, start building some fences and getting some fields ready for farming, get an irrigation system setup, get the solar panels up and running… Well shit, I don’t know what I’m doing with this log. I got a ton of work to do.” Dean winked at the camera before reaching forward to turn it off.

Sam figured that would be the end, but after a few seconds the screen lit up again. His heart leapt, hoping to see more of Dean. Instead a stranger with dark hair and blue eyes appeared. The man adjusted the camera before sitting down.

“Hello Sam. I’m Castiel. I’m a… a _friend_ of your brother’s.”

What the actual fuck?

“I won’t bore you with the details, but I’ve managed to cross paths with Dean out here on Purgatory. It was completely by accident… But my staying here is completely intentional.” His expression was indecipherable; Sam didn’t know the man well enough to be confident in his guess, but if he _had_ to guess, he’d think this man was fond of Dean.

Okay seriously, what the fuck was going on?

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sam. All of it good.” A pause. “ _Most_ of it good,” he amended with a slight smile. “I know you’re smart. I know between this message and your own investigation, it’s only a matter of time before you find us. I’m counting on that, actually.

“Dean’s determined to stay out here in his self-imposed exile. In all honesty, it’s not a bad idea. He’s not ready to go back. Not _yet_. I think by the time you find us, he might be. I think by the time you figure out where we are and actually _arrive_ , Dean might actually be able to greet you with a hug and a smile instead of a knife to your throat. No promises, though.” Another pause. “That was a joke, by the way. I wouldn’t invite you out here if I thought your brother might actually kill you.”

Despite how bizarre this whole thing was, Sam did laugh at that.

“So, Sam Winchester. You have my name. You know the general direction Dean set out in. You have this message… Better get to work. I’m expecting your visit.”

The message cut out. Sam waited, but nothing else played. That really was it.

He sat there for a good ten minutes digesting what he’d seen, then he played the message again. And again. This really was going to be tricky, but Castiel’s hints did help. It was more of a lead than he’d had since Dean first disappeared.

“Bobby,” he said over the intercom. “I’m going to need your help with this. We’ve got ourselves a case…”

* * *

 

**Bonus Scene 1**

**Dean:** You want me to teach you how to hunt hellhounds? If you’re staying, I figure you’ll probably want a hobby—

 **Cas, rushing out of the room:** Yes, absolutely. Let me find my night vision goggles and my  machete. I’ll be right back!

 **Dean:** … Night vision goggles? _Machete_? What the fuck, why does Cas get all the cool stuff?? Next he’s gonna tell me he has a grenade launcher…

 

**Bonus Scene 2**

**Dean:** okay real talk time… you got lube on your ship?

 **Cas:** no why

 **Dean:** …. wtf how do you jerk off???

 **Cas:** … with my hand??? if lube is so vital to masturbation why don't _you_ have any?

 **Dean:** complete lack of foresight. should've known a hot astronaut would crash land on my planet and been prepared

 **Cas, thoughtfully:** hmm I wonder if it's too late to tell Sam to bring lube…

 **Dean:** what???

 **Cas:** nothing 0:)

**Author's Note:**

> ~~the epilogue is just because i'm a terrible tease - i have no plans for a sequel sorry~~


End file.
